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Monday, May 24, 2004


I fucking hate Cubs fans. Not all Cubs fans mind you, as this is a category that includes probably the vast majority of my friends. But I hate the noxious swarm that descends into My City from the far suburban nether regions on every game day. Last night I was in downtown Chicago conducting some legitimate bidness, appearing in a staged reading of "Psycho Military Yoga Guy", a comedy sketch written by my ex-girlfriend Rebecca David, and also featuring fellow L3K alum Reina Hardy. It was a fun little piece but I was tired and a little sick, and once my L train home hit the Addison stop (where Wrigley Field is) my commute back to Evanston became about five times longer and less enjoyable than it had to be. Their loud, drunken idiot voices are still ringing in my ears. Everyone has something that sends them into a violent, irrational rage and I realize that ignorance of north side of Chicago public transportation is (one of) mine. As the Red Line approached Howard Street, the Chicago/Evanston border where the Evanston train would take me home and take them another leg on their journey back to their distant subdivisions, I heard people asking "Are we there yet?" "Is this where we change?" Fuck you! You slime, you're less than human! Rich, suburbanite parasite scum. Their ignorance and contempt for Chicago and Evanston, as mere necessary evils on the journey from the holes they live in to Wrigley, is what really gets me. As I finally, mercifully disembarked at my home L stop in Evanston, I noticed some of the dickwads were following me. I was very surprised that they were actually getting off at Dempster. But of course, they had a car in an adjacent parking lot. What a shock. On their way to the car they contemptuously talked about Howard Street smelling bad. They gave the impression of having been to Howard before, but only as a pitstop to Addison of course. What fucking balls those tourists have! They take up space on our public transportation system, then complain about our neighborhoods! Well, maybe Howard Street does have a rank odor, but it's our rank odor, so why don't you get into your little resource devouring machine and get yourselves the fuck back to Bannockburn or wherever the fuck you came from and leave Evanston in the state of serenity and peace to which it is accustomed...

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